Sand… only sand…
Marcus muttered it like a curse, another fat bead of sweat carving a salty trail down his drenched forehead. The air inside the Panzer IV was thick with all kinds of smells.
"You getting mad, Marcus?" Oliver laughed, stretching his legs as far as the cramped steel coffin allowed.
"He's not mad," a calm voice came from the open commander's hatch above them.
"He's thirsty."
The Oberleutnant leaned down for a second, eyes sharp under his cap. "Give him some water."
"Ja, Herr Oberleutnant!" Oliver reached behind his seat and yanked out a dented metal canteen.
Meanwhile, the Oberleutnant straightened back up, binoculars pressed to his eyes. The desert had become a living inferno. Hundreds of tanks, Panzers, half-tracks and trucks roared left and right of them in a thundering steel tide.
Then the radio crackled to life, the voice ice-cold and final:
"All units, prepare for combat!"
The three men inside the tank snapped to attention like they'd been electrocuted.
The Oberleutnant spun, sweeping the horizon with his binoculars. There, low and fast, silhouetted against the burning sun.
"There!" he barked, pointing for his own benefit. "Enemy aircraft, four o'clock!"
He gave the squadron of planes one last look, then dropped down into the turret.
"Flak guns out, NOW!" Orders ripped across the desert as the massive formation of tanks began to spread.
Tarps flew off supply trucks, revealing the long, deadly barrels of 88mm Flak guns already swinging skyward.
"Come on, boys!" a Leutnant roared somewhere to their left, his voice barely cutting through the rising scream of incoming engines.
The first 88 barked, then the whole line erupted. Muzzle flashes lit the desert like lightning, and the sky answered with the howl of diving aircraft.
The Hawker Hurricanes erupted with machine gun fire, the first one spraying one of the tanks with medium success, all while dodging the fire from the flaks.
The first 88 barked, then the whole line erupted. Muzzle flashes lit the desert like lightning, and the sky answered with the howl of diving aircraft.
The Hawker Hurricanes came in low. They opened up with their machine guns right away. The first one sprayed a Panzer III two tanks ahead of them. The bullets hit the side armor and bounced off in a shower of sparks. The tank shook but kept moving, although some smoke came from the tracks.
Oliver worked the MG34 and fired at the planes. "They are too low," he yelled. "They keep dodging the shells."
Marcus stayed at the gun sight. Sweat ran into his eyes. He tracked the nearest Hurricane. The British pilot flew so close they could see his face. Another burst of bullets hit their own Panzer IV. They rang against the steel like hammers.
"Damn it," Marcus cursed. He closed the 75mm breech. "He is coming around again."
Above them, the Oberleutnant stood half out of the hatch. He watched as one of the 88s scored a hit. A Hurricane turned into black smoke and fire. It crashed into the sand and exploded.
The other planes kept coming. Their engines roared and their guns never stopped.
The desert was full of sand, smoke and noise.
Across the hill, Rommel stroked his chin. He too was sitting in such a tank, but his was not under fire at the moment.
"Surprising that they still have fuel for these planes," he said, calculatively. "Either way, they have to return soon and we have to arrive soon."
He leaned downward.
"Transmit my order. All units are to continue moving."
The soldier nodded and quickly did so.
The radio operator spoke fast into the microphone. Seconds later, the order went out to every tank and truck in the column. The big formation went on once again. Engines roared louder and the long line of Panzers rolled forward through the dunes.
Back in the Oberleutnant's tank, the 88s kept firing. Two more Hurricanes turned away with smoke behind them. The rest of the British planes made one last pass, then climbed and headed west.
"They're leaving," Oliver said and wiped sweat from his face.
Marcus looked through the sight. The sky above them was empty again. Only dust and the sound of their own engines remained.
The Oberleutnant stayed in the hatch and watched the column move. He gave a short nod.
"Keep going," he said. "We still have many kilometers to Tobruk."
The tanks rolled on. The desert swallowed the noise of the battle and the long steel line pushed deeper into the heat.
Tobruk at approximately the same time.
Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck and Major General Richard O'Connor both stood at their fronts. Their hands were behind their backs. The picture was quite similar. Adjutants ran up to them at almost the same moment.
Vorbeck turned. A grenade shell landed a few hundred meters away. He did not flinch. He only stretched out his hand.
"So, so," he muttered, almost amused.
"It seems like Rommel has done it."
Then his voice suddenly grew loud with new energy. It almost startled the adjutant in front of him.
"Get me Colonel Reinhard of the reserve force. We will punch through in the south!"
"Yes, Sir!"
Vorbeck turned and looked into the distance. Through the fountain of sand from the shell, his eyes stayed fixed on the distant city. The sandstorm was already gone.
At the same time, O'Connor lowered his message. His hands were shaking. He looked in the same direction.
"Bastard..." he said. His voice trembled.
"Send the armored regiment," he ordered and let out a loud sigh.
Smith widened his eyes.
"But what if the Germans push through?" he asked.
O'Connor turned.
"Are you questioning my order?!" he shouted. His tone became quieter when he saw Smith's face.
He sighed once more and leaned onto the sandstone wall.
"This attack was a feint to begin with. They targeted our fuel supply route and we were too blind to see it. I believe the attacking force has already used up most of its strength. It is dangerous, but I do not see another way."
"We NEED to get those fuel supplies, Smith."
With that, the remaining operable tanks of the British force left the immediate front, relieving the German and Italian attackers while moving at full speed, trying to hinder Rommel from acquiring their fuel.
"That's the second mistake you made," Vorbeck whispered, remaining exactly where he had been before.
"Reinhard," he said, tilting his head to the side. A German colonel was standing next to him.
"Start the breakthrough in the south. Use the 2nd tank battalion Rommel left too. We will cut through them completely, now that their tanks have left."
The colonel hesitated.
"Won't Rommel be in quite a precarious situation? These British tanks are not half bad?"
Vorbeck nodded, a slight flicker of concern evident.
"He will have to manage. This is war after all."
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